You Smiled Because You Knew
by spiritsandstars
Summary: (A collection of ModernAU drabbles) In the 1960s in Paris, the first student movements are rising. Enjolras is a Law student who gets away from his oppressive family by meeting with his classmates at the Café Musain, while discussing the Wall and the Cold War, or in the Sorbonne library, hiding behind piles of books. Little does he know what he will find in there. [E/E]
1. 1

_Paris, 1966_

Enjolras hurried up on the steps of the Sorbonne library, carefully carrying the books he had been hiding in the pockets of his jacket – the last time his father had caught him reading Marcuse, he had been reminded, once more, the disappointment he was for his family.

But he did not care; all of his father's money could have never bought the excitement he felt down his spine everytime he flipped through pages filled with political theories, who seemed to take him by the hand and show him a new world.

The Sorbonne library was his favorite place in Paris – even better than the Café Musain, where he met regularly with his friends to discuss the news from the world, and drink a nice glass of wine. Although he appreciated his friends' company, he preferred to be alone, most of the times – he did not have to fake a smile, when all he could think about was his mother quietly closing the kitchen door behind her, with tears in her eyes, after talking with his father about him.

He spotted a well-lit seat next to one of the huge windows – the table was almost empty, save for one girl who was too absorbed in her book to give him any attention. After returning the old books (and replacing them with even thicker ones) he sat down, breathed heavily, and plunged himself into another reality – where he had to be nothing, but himself.

Enjolras took notes of almost everything, for he was afraid, like every reader, to forget an important passage, or a poignant quotation. He scribbled on a little black notebook, with a precise calligraphy, without even looking up once.

It was only when he started looking for the bottled water in his bag that he noticed that the girl sitting next to him had been staring at him – or rather, at what he was reading. She didn't want to be seen, of course – but when she reached for the book with her fingers, as a child trying to sneak chocolate from the cupboard, he glared at her.

Surprisingly, she did not blush, or look embarassed. She just shrug her shoulders, adjusting the glasses on her nose. He looked at her right in the face – and couldn't help but notice that she was beautiful, but an odd kind of beautiful. If you had seen her walking down the street, passing by, one would have hardly paid any attention to her. Yet, with a closer look, it was impossible to ignore the fact that there was something different about her – probably it was the deep, mysterious expression in her eyes.

"Sartre." she said in a low voice. "L'être et le néant. Nice one. I read it last month." The words that came out of her mouth seemed forced, unnatural – as if she wasn't the one who had been trying to figure out the title all along.

Enjolras did not know how to reply – a girl who read Sartre? He tried to ignore her, but a crooked smiled crossed his face.

"I'm only halfway through it – and I would really appreciate not being interrupted, thanks." he added, a little bit too harshly.

"So I suppose you're not going to ask me what I am reading, Monsieur." she laughed. And Enjolras clearly saw that the laughter did not reach her eyes.

"I honestly don't care, but if you insist... " _Be nice, _he thought. _That's what Courfeyrac would do, at least._

She handed her copy to him – his fingers ran over the hard printed letters.

"Le deuxième sèxe. Simone de Beauvoir." he read out loud. "So you're a feminist."

"I'm not." she answered, quietly. "I just like women who speak their mind and aren't afraid to choose for themselves."

Silence fell between them for a few seconds, before the girl added something else.

"You know, they met in this very library."

"Who?" he had been distracted enough, and certainly did not want to hear the opinions of a girl he had never met on matters he wanted to understand himself.

"Sartre and de Beauvoir, of course. You didn't know?" she raised her eyebrows.

"No, Mademoiselle, I did not know. And now, if you will excuse me-"

"Of course. Go back to your reading, and Heaven forbid you catch a glimpse of the real world." she smiled enigmatically, and picked up her book again.

_Whatever. _He lit a cigarette and sighed, concentrating again – until he heard the girl whispering something to herself, as a sort of prayer.

"_She was necessary – the others were contingent. I want to be necessary." _she repeated the sentence for four of times at least, her eyes fixed on the page.

"Do you need something?" he asked. He would have done anything to get that girl out of his mind – because since he had heard her voice, and her sharp replies, he had not focused on Sartre.

She turned her head, slowly. "No, Monsieur. I'm sorry if I disturbed you." she waved her hand, carelessly.

She finally shut up for the rest of the afternoon – and Enjolras found himself hoping she would have broken the silence between them once more, with her smile that never reached her eyes. But she didn't. She was genuinely interested in what she was reading – she only rolled a cigarette once, and scribbled something on her notebook for a couple of minutes.

He got up when the library was shutting down, around eight. The Parisian spring breeze was blowing from one of the open doors – and he felt an unfamiliar twinge in his heart when he saw her carefully putting her scarf on.

He suddenly remembered something Combeferre had said some days earlier, talking about a mutual friend. _That's the problem with those girls – they look harmless, they do not have a striking beauty. They do not have an army of suitors – but then they do something unexpected, like pushing their hair back, or simply sip their coffee – and you realize how beautiful and charming they are, with their simplicity and their je ne sais quoi. That's when you're doomed. _

She closed her bag and folded her brown curls under her beret – and when she raised her eyes, she met his gaze. She shook her head, chuckling.

"Are you always this friendly, Monsieur?" she asked, with her satchel on her shoulder, heading towards the exit.

"I- " Enjolras did not know what to say. He did not even know her name, come to think of it. "W-what's your name, Mademoiselle?"

"Éponine." she did not look back at him, while running down the marble stairs to get her bicycle.

"I am- " he did not have the chance to finish his sentence, as he saw her peddling under the street lights. He cursed. The only girl in Paris whom he had seen reading the same books he did, gone forever into the night – without even knowing who he was.

It was only when he got home and threw his bag next to his bed that he noticed a little sheet of yellow paper.

_Am I being a feminist if I say I will be there tomorrow?_

He held his breath – and just like Combeferre said, he was doomed.


	2. 2

_Since some of you have asked for a sequel, here it is - I needed to take my mind off some things so I decided to give it a go. Mind, it's not a **proper **sequel, because I'd rather write a collection of drabbles than a full story. _

_Thanks to all those who reviewed and hope you like it!_

_PS. I imagine Modern!Eponine very much like Alaska Young from John Green's Looking for Alaska. Do you agree?_

_Lily*_

**_Sorbonne Library, 1966_**

"So I told her to straighten up her priorities - I mean, putting yourself second? Seriously? Are you for real? This is not the 19th century anymore!" Éponine laughed and took a sip from her cup of coffee.

"I think that you are a little too harsh on her, Éponine. I... I think that happiness is real only when shared." Cosette blushed a little bit, without taking her eyes off her psychology textbook.

Éponine scoffed. "And where did you learn that, Cosette? Some paperback novel? One with a handsome beau on the cover? Besides... I'm too intelligent, resourceful and demanding for anyone to love me. I have only myself."

Her friend shook her head. "You are the one quoting here, I'm pretty sure of that."

"Who cares if I am quoting, if I find that those words speak for myself?" she raised her eyebrows. Éponine took herself very seriously - after all, she was forced to live with the image she saw on the mirror every day of her life. Nonetheless, the two friends looked at each other and burst into laughter.

Someone from the table behind Éponine shushed, to remind the two girls they were in a library, not in a café around Place Saint Michel.

Cosette blushed even more, and whispered a thoughtful apology. Éponine did not give up her right to laugh so easy, though - not without turning her head to see the person who had dared to tell her to shut up.

She wasn't expecting to see the young man who was sitting next to her a couple of days before. She had followed one of the rules she had learnt over the years with men - _don't __show up when you're expected to._

She held her gaze a little bit longer and grinned. "Still reading Sartre, uh? Alright, alright - we will shut up. But only because it's Sartre. Were it someone else, I would laugh like it was my last day on Earth."

Enjolras sighed, annoyed. There she was, playing with her messy hair, her thick glasses, and a touch of lipstick on her lips. He wished she didn't stand out so much from the crowd.

"Not in a talking mood today, Monsieur? Too bad." she turned back to her book, without the slightest hesitation.

"I-" That was the main problem. Every time he tried to talk to her, he stopped after one word. The truth was, Éponine scared him. It seemed that she was from a different world - one with secret rules he couldn't understand.

"You... ?" she repeated, mockingly, turning her chair to face him.

"I know you!" interrupted Cosette, who had been listening to their conversation. "You must be... Oh, I'm sorry, I don't remember your name... En... Enrique? Marius told me everything about you. I believe we've met once or twice, outside the Musain..."

He looked closer at the girl in front of Éponine - he had the bad habit of not noticing anything else, when she was around. He had seen her before, indeed - Marius's _petite amie_, the one he couldn't shut up about.

"Enjolras." he corrected, politely. "Cosette, I suppose."

"Precisely." she smiled, nodding. "Forgive my friend." she glanced quickly at Éponine. "She can be challenging, at times."

"Challenging? Cosette, just because I do not treat men like my saviors and throw myself at their feet, it doesn't mean I am challenging."

"Calm down, _Lizzie Bennet_." Cosette started laughing again. "And I'm sure that you've scared Enjolras here enough for today. Besides - you should study. You can't expect to pass your classes by... by..." she became quiet, without finishing the sentence.

"Sorry, Monsieur Enjolras." said Éponine, with a fake sad expression. "I like your name. It's like a tongue twister. On the bright side, I could pronounce it while eating my croissant and still get it right."

_What does that even mean,_ he thought, burying himself in his reading once more. _This girl is going to drive me to the edge of reason._

Around three in the afternoon Cosette left the library - she was probably off to meet Marius somewhere nearby. Éponine gently slid her books next to him, with a wide smile on her face.

"Did you miss me, Monsieur Enjolras?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

He groaned. What did she think, that he was a toy of some sort? He had not time for girls like her, who expected the whole world to fall in love with them.

"Don't lie. You did. I'm incredibly sorry I did not show up yesterday." her smile got even wider.

"Do you really think that I wanted you to show up? I had forgotten about it." _Liar. Don't tell her you couldn't stop staring at the clock in front of you. Don't tell her eight p.m. had seemed to come around too early._

Her lips curled in an adorable, child like way. "Let's just concentrate on our books, right? That's the thing we're best at."

He nodded in agreement - and noticed that she did all the talking. He was just content staring at her lips move, listening to the words come out of her mouth. And sometimes, if she caught him off guard, he wandered what those lips tasted like - probably like cheap lipstick, coffee and tobacco.

She only spoke once more, while smoking her cigarette. "Can I call you Monsieur _Fourchelangue_?* It sounds nice. Cosette told me you're an activist of some kind - it suits you."

He waved his hand and cracked a smile - so she thought of him, _sometimes._

Before the library closed and she rushed out of the door, with her bag full of papers, he managed to mutter something.

"What do you know about me, anyway."

"Nothing, Monsieur _Fourchelangue_ - but I know which books you read, and you know mine. That's more than most of the married couples I know."

_*Fourchelangue means "tongue twister" in French._


	3. 3

_Tomorrow is my birthday, so what a better prompt? A little gift from me to you, lovely readers - enjoy!_

_xx_

_Lily_

Éponine was surrounded by quite a crowd, when Enjolras went in the courtyard of the library to catch some fresh air. They were all laughing at her dressed like a boy - François Truffaut's _Jules et Jim_ had just come out, and she was honoring Jeanne Moreau in her own, personal way.

Enjolras did not know the reason for all this excitement - did she really just have to put on some weird clothes to be the center of attention? Voices came from the various people around her, encouraging her to give a speech - he spotted Cosette handing her a bouquet of fresh roses, while Marius adjusted her boy-like cap.

He sighed and considered going back inside, before Marius saw him - otherwise, he would have had to stay and watch the whole show the girl was putting on. Nonetheless, he stood there, carefully hiding behind one of the pillars - he hated her for being so charming and catching his eye, even when she was behaving like a three year old.

Surprisingly, Éponine did not start talking right away, and said something very banal, along the lines of "Thank you for being here" and "You're all very special to me."

Certainly not what he had expected from the few times he had actually heard her speak. It was only when the crowd had showed its disappointment that she added some words.

"You'll have to wait tonight for the rest of the speech. My dear friend Marius here was just telling me what a lovely place the _Café Musain_ is... "

Enjolras felt his heart skip a beat. He had a meeting that very night, at the Café Musain, even Marius knew it. How could he be so stupid and tell her? Wasn't mentioning Cosette at all times enough, for him? Did he really have to invite her too? And besides, what was the occasion? The only thing Enjolras knew was that if Éponine had the intention of disturbing everyone with her loud opinions, he would have never, ever allowed it.

"God." he rushed back into the library, hoping not to be seen. Tonight, he would have talked to Marius and made it clear that the _Café Musain_ was not a place for dating or drinking - but he wished to find the courage to tell Éponine the same. Fighting with Marius was one thing - he was almost used to it. But fighting with a girl who scared him so much he couldn't even properly say hello to her - that was another story.

The same night, the _Café Musain _was packed - and although the meeting progressed without much trouble, save for Grantaire's alarming number of drinks, it was still hard to hear each other, even when sitting at the same table. By ten, Éponine had not showed up yet - Enjolras hoped to keep it that way until midnight.

He and Combeferre were so busy writing down some flyers that they barely had noticed Courfeyrac's absence - until they heard Joly commenting "I did not know Courfeyrac danced with boys, too." Enjolras raised his head - and Courfeyrac clearly wasn't dancing with a boy. Éponine had not changed her clothes, apparently.

"Why don't you come over and meet my friends,_ chérie_?" he heard Courfeyrac shout across the room. "I am sure they will find you lovely, just like I do. Actually, I do not think that is possible. I find you the most attractive lady tonight - even if you're in disguise." he chuckled, smiling.

Enjolras saw her laugh cheerfully, with her sweet laugh that did not reach her eyes._ She was a good actress,_ though. He had to admit it.

Marius and Cosette, holding hands, followed Courfeyrac and Éponine to their table, where a loud noise greeted them.

"Monsieurs, may I present you the most lovely lady I've met in this café - no offense, Mademoiselle Cosette, but what's the use of complimenting a woman that will never be mine?" started Courfeyrac, while Marius blushed a little.

Enjolras tried to ignore the fact that when he saw Courfeyrac holding Éponine's hand gracefully he wished to be him, for a brief second. His friend continued with his mocking speech.

"Even as a man, she still manages to turn heads - now, that's remarkable, right? Mademoiselle 'Ponine, my friends, Les Amis de l'ABC - Grantaire here, who will be glad to share his wine with you."

"Not too fast, Courfeyrac. The girl looks nice, but I don't know if she's just as good as French wine." Grantaire bowed his head, laughing.

"Joly - don't shake his hand, he will probably think you will give him some rare disease. Combeferre, our personal Plato, Jehan, our dreamer - he will write a poem about a pretty girl dressed in boy's clothes after tonight, that's for sure. Next to Jehan we have Feuilly, the most talented... " it took Courfeyrac a couple of minutes to introduce each one of them, before arriving to Enjolras - who had not taken his eyes off the paper.

"And finally, our leader, who right now thinks I'm being incredibly childish and immature, Enjolras. Don't worry, he is always like that. You have done nothing wrong." he winked at Éponine, who shook her head.

"I think I've met him, a couple of times. Although I never thought he belonged to anywhere but the library." she laughed. "And this very morning, he was unbelievably rude. He did not even wish me happy birthday, nor joined me and my friends at our morning toast. A girl never forgets such things."

Enjolras finally looked up at her - of course, it had to be her birthday. Why else would Cosette bring her flowers, or people ask her to give a public speech.

"I did not know, Mademoiselle."he coughed, trying to ignore her.

"You do now. Oh, I was almost forgetting - I have a speech to finish. Mind if I... ?" without even finishing her sentence, she took a chair and stood on it, looking at her audience.

"Courfeyrac, we were working here, you know. Something more important than the birthday of some girl you've just met." whispered Enjolras to his ear, visibly irritated.

Courfeyrac sighed. "You do realize you are completely oblivious, I hope."

"What on Earth... ?" Enjolras gave him a puzzled look - but before he could add anything, Éponine had started talking.

"As some of you know, I've been reading a lot lately - Cosette here is surprised, for libraries were not one of my many interests." she pointed at her friend, smiling. "I've learned various things, in these past few months - and what a better occasion than my birthday to start fresh, to put into practice what I've taken from the books I so carefully read? They made me a different person, I suppose. One of my favorites has been Madame de Beauvoir - and she says that one is not born woman, but rather, becomes one." she paused for a little while.

"And as a belated homage to her, I am here, doing something completely... Unexpected. I am here to ask a man to dance with me, and I won't take no for an answer."

Enjolras sighed - perhaps he had misjudged her. If all she found useful in feminist theories was asking Courfeyrac to dance, well, she probably wasn't as smart as he thought.

It took him a few seconds to realize that she was reaching his hand out to him, and not to anyone else in the room. Silence fell among his friends - most of them had never seen Éponine before, and even Marius, who probably knew her a little better, was looking at her in disbelief.

She did not care - all she did was keep her witty smile on her face, waiting for his answer.

"Just one dance, Monsieur. Consider it as the price to pay for keeping all of Sartre's books while other people are eager to read them. Or as a birthday present."

He stared at her, paralyzed - he did not know what to say. No one had asked him to dance before, especially not a girl dressed like a man, who smoked at least one packet of cigarettes every day and did not admire him in any possible way. Combeferre elbowed him – even he knew that making a girl like that wait was not a good move.

He got up, with his legs trembling - why did she keep on doing that? It was just a game for her, he was sure - one she was terribly good at.

"A-alright. Just one dance, I suppose."

His friends all clapped, as he took her hand and lead her slowly to the dancefloor, in a drunken haze - for the first time, he was actually grateful Grantaire had forced a glass of wine down his throat, earlier that evening. All of that time, Éponine had not stopped grinning, as if she knew something he didn't.

"Why me... ?" he whispered to her ear, clumsily reaching for her waist, feeling some sort of electrical shock as his fingers touched her.

"You're right - you're a terrible dancer. But it had to be you, I suppose. The first time you looked at me, you smiled."

He raised his eyebrow. "Is it the only reason? A friendly smile?"

"And what did you expect, a proposal? A declaration of undying love and affection?" she laughed.

"Just a reasonable explanation."

"Lord, you can be irritating, at times. Didn't your friends tell you?"

"More than once. But I'm still... " he held his breath, summoning all his courage. "I'm still waiting to hear the truth behind all this show you put on today."

Eponine bit her lip, meeting his gaze. And just this once, her hazel eyes lit up too.

"The first time you looked at me - well, you didn't look away, afterwards. And nobody ever does that, with me."


	4. 4

_First of all: thank you, thank you, thank you for your reviews and your support! I checked my email first thing in the morning and found them along my birthday wishes, it was great - and essence-of-lily, nobody has asked that before, a photoset would be amazing - I'm flattered!_

_Since I have literally no idea where these drabbles are taking me, I'm VERY open to prompts, you can leave them in the reviews or on my Tumblr blog (the link is on my profile page.) In fact, this one was suggested by a friend of mine. (I know it's longer than my usual drabbles, but I just couldn't help myself.)_

_Tonight I'm stuck home studying inside than going out with my friends, so what a better way to take a break than writing? _

_Love,_

_Lily_

The _Café Musain _was usually silent, after midnight; the crowd flowed in the other dancing clubs of the city. Even Enjolras's friends had left - were it with a bottle of wine, a girl or an essay due the morning after. The only ones left were Cosette and Marius, dancing cheek to cheek on the empty floor, exchanging glances and laughing.

Enjolras did not care - he was rather irritated every time Marius took time away from the group to stay with Cosette, but after all, that week, there was not much to do. He smoked a cigarette with the cool night air blowing on his face, shaking his head to the rhytm of the music - and remembered his dance with Éponine, only a couple of hours earlier.

She had left with an American man who had bought her flowers and kissed her sweetly, while all he could do was stand there and watch. He did not know where she was now, but she was probably was with him, celebrating her birthday. He felt an unfamiliar twinge in his heart at the thought of her lips pressed on his.

He was quite surprised when he saw her on her old, rusty red bike, peddling towards him. She stopped abruptly but managed to get off gracefully, smirking.

"I'm back - Heaven knows Americans are boring." she commented, shivering for the breeze.

He did not reply right away, but looked at her face - her deep, hazel eyes, the curve of her lips, her dimples. Looking at her without being noticed was the one thing he could keep for himself. And with a girl like Éponine, it was probably all he could ask for.

She kept on talking - she did it all the time. Enjolras was convinced that she did not enjoy talking with others just as much as talking to herself aloud.

"How can you get a woman you wish to impress roses, I do not understand. They're banal - the death of love, if you ask me. The knights in shiny armor I've read in books do not exist - and if they do, they all ride the same horse."

He did not know how to address her - he was almost ready to say something, when he noticed that her gaze was fixed on Marius and Cosette, still dancing, oblivious of the world revolving around them.

"He was mine first, you know?" she said, out of the blue.

"Pardon me?" he raised his eyebrow. He had clearly misunderstood her - Marius and Éponine seemed to him an improbable combination.

"Well, he was not mine, strictly speaking. But I liked him. Very much. Actually, I just liked to imagine a man like him next to me. Kind, smart, well-cultured - all the things I couldn't be. He was my escape."

She took a deep breath and took a cigarette out of her purse, using her blue lighter.

"I'm such a cliché, I suppose. One man breaks my heart, and all the others have to suffer for him."

"I don't think you are a cliché. I think that you are just... " Éponine was a puzzle to him. That's why he couldn't find the right word for her. "Fine."

"Fine? Like wine or fresh flowers?" she laughed, shaking her head.

"No, fine like true. Fine, Hemingway fine." He coughed. The Contemporary English literature course he had taken last year was coming handy where he had least expected.

"What does that even mean?" for the first time, it was Éponine asking him a question.

"You're fine because you're true. You have your own quirks, your own ideas, and... You feel real." at this point, Enjolras had given up trying to give a logical explanation to his words. "Every time you waltz into a room - because that's what you do, you waltz in, you don't simply walk in - you stand out. And it's not because of your beauty or of your clothes, but because you light up everything around you. You're like gravity. You make people feel your presence. You make people shift."

"I'm not sure I understand your point - but that's beautiful. Sure your friend the poet didn't write this?" she tried to laugh things off, as usual.

He smiled. "He would never tell a girl she is real."

"You are one hell of a dreamer, if the best compliment you can give is that. Because that's what dreamers do, right? They want their dreams to become true."

"I guess so." he was silent for a while - until he felt Éponine's hand on his.

"Let's leave the two love birds here, shall we? They won't even notice we're gone, I think. Can I- can I show you something?"

There was not bravado in her eyes, nor self-confidence. It was odd - Enjolras had always seen her as made of steel, detached from everyone else while in the middle of a crowd, and strong. He had never noticed that sometimes, even her eyes were vulnerable. It was an offer, a simple touch - the same electrical shock he had felt while touching her waist.

"I- I have classes in the morning. And I have to print out some flyers... "

"For Heaven's sake, what's the last time you did something for yourself, Enjolras?" The old Éponine was back, the one who couldn't take no for an answer.

He nodded, still uncertain. She had said herself that all the other men in her life were not Marius. All the men she had shared dances and beds with, they probably mattered nothing. Why should he be different?

"Come along, Monsieur. I've always been good at hiding - but just this once, I want someone to hide with me." she grinned, pointing at her bike. "Get on."

He was about to say something about safety, but she just pushed him behind her - that unexpected physical contact made his legs feel even weaker. He noticed her hair smelled like vanilla and soap, the one you use to wash your clothes.

"It won't take long - the Seine is just at the end of the street, and even if it was at the end of the world, I can peddle for my life."

He laughed wholeheartedly, for the first time in months, while placing his hands on her waist, hoping not to fall down while she hit the cobblestones and the poodles on the street. She was riding fast, carelessly - much like she did in life.

It took them only ten minutes to reach the banks of the river, full of street lights and cafes swarming with people. She casually tied the bike to one of the street lamps, before descending down the narrow stairs.

"This... " she pointed at the dirty, muddy road that followed the course of the river "Is my hiding place. My personal space. I come here every night, more or less. I come here when I don't want to think, I just want to breathe."

She sat down, her feet almost touching the water below. "I was always fascinated with water. It is fluid, ever changing. I want to be like that, one day."

Enjolras was silent when he sat next to her - he did not want to speak. He had always something to say, with his friends, at the university - but the only thing he wanted now was to listen.

"I wish this was my last night on Earth." she thought aloud, after a while. "I wish the world would end tomorrow, and I want my last memory to be this river, the stars, the smoke filling my lungs and the music from the cafes."

"If this is your last night on Earth - then why are you here with someone you barely know?" his practicality had not left him, after all.

"Because you're here, and that's what most people in my life are not. People drift, and forget. You don't. You won't forget."

"How do you know that?"

"I've seen you read, Enjolras. You take everything you can, you absorb. You're not like the others. You want to fill yourself with ideas, and dreams, and new realities... You are shouting into the void, just like I am. Maybe, you're a little bit better than me. I am self centered. Your center lies in the things you love."

"Nobody has ever told me that." he took her hand again. It was natural, this time.

"Probably not with words - but they can feel it, I'm sure of that."

He let out a crooked smile, and asked her the one question that had been buzzing in his mind the whole night long.

"Why- why should I be different, to you?"

"And why is defining things so important, to you? What exactly do you want to hear? That I want to be with you, and no one else? That you're my sun and stars? That we will be together? Why can't we just... Just be. That's all. Be here, on a night like this, and live?"

"Probably because it's- " he did not know how to express the feeling in his stomach. "It's scary, maybe. And I don't like to be unprepared."

"Alright, alright. You're different, Monsieur Enjolras, because you don't run away. You're different, because you like challenges and impossibilities. You're different, because... Well, why should there be a reason after all? Jeez, sometimes I kiss a man just because I like his face or the way he tells jokes."

He swore he could have heard his heart stop beating for a good minute, when she said the word kiss.

"It's all just a game to you, then. You... you do it for the thrill of the chase, don't you?"

She started laughing again, her hair falling on her face.

"It's the chase that keeps us alive."

"Please, don't use such banalities with me, Éponine. It's something I can't stand." he was more relaxed.

She scoffed. "It's hard to please you as well - most men go for a pretty smile, you know? Bet you've never had a girl. You should take lessons somewhere."

Her eyes gazed at the night sky. "Under which star do you think people will kiss in a thousand years?"

"I haven't read that book yet, I'm sorry." he tried to keep it simple - books were their common ground. Their meeting place.

"That was an interesting question anyway. Like under which star did people kiss a thousand years ago. Which stars hold the love vows whispered in nights like these? And what is the right star to wish upon?"

"I don't have the slightest idea, Éponine."

She shrug her shoulders. "So you don't have all the answers, like you lead your friends to believe. You're always there preaching. Perhaps it's time for someone else to step in."

He looked at her, terrified. He did not like the sound of those words. She ignored him and pointed at a random star, somewhere in the distance.

"You see that star? The one surrounded by billions of others, but still... Peculiar? I don't know any astronomy, but that one looks... Brighter. It's stupid and childish, but I like to believe that it's mine. I can always find it, even when the sky is dark and there are black clouds. It must mean something, right? And that one, the one you can see crystal clear, flaming and flashing - that one is yours. They're opposites, you see? Our opposite stars."

Enjolras tried to visualize the stars she was talking about, to remember them and find them all the nights to come, when he realized she was standing too close to him.

"I've never let anyone kiss me under my star. Take your chance, before I change my mind."

"Do stars mean this much to you or is it just an excuse?" it was his usual self speaking.

"You'll never know."

Hesitantly, slowly, his lips met hers - he was clumsy, trembling and shaking his head a little bit - and for the first time in his life, he understood what Édith Piaf meant, when she said that in Paris, lovers loved their own ways.


	5. 5

_CONFETTI, IT'S A PARADE!_

_Along with your lovely reviews, I've been included in an E/E masterpost and also on unicornesque's fic rec on Tumblr (if you don't know her: she's the AMAZING author of At Dusk Through Narrow Streets, possibly one of the best fics I've ever read) - I never thought my drabbles could be so appreciated, I just want to give free cups of tea to all of you - you are what keeps me going._

_Thank you darlings!_

_xx_

_Lily_

The day after the kiss.

That's what Enjolras thought first thing in the morning. The scent of Éponine's hair still filled him - and his fingers remembered her soft cheeks, the taste of her lipstick in his mouth. He had always been good at remembering details.

He slipped into his kitchen - his father had already left for work, while his mother was reading the morning paper.

"You came home late, yesterday. Still with your friends, I assume." she sighed. She had lost her son the day he had started university - she still shivered, when she thought of the first fight between her son and her husband. As the mother and the wife, she was the only balance between them.

Enjolras nodded. "Late night meeting, yes." he grabbed one cup of coffee, still thinking about Éponine - who took her coffee black, with just a little milk.

And as a woman, his mother knew the smile that crossed her son's face.

"You sure it was just you and your friends, dear?" she looked at him, taking her eyes off the paper.

"Oh- of course, Mom. I was- just trying to remember where I put something... " he blushed. Enjolras was a terrible liar.

"Alright, alright. I'll see you tonight, then." she tried to hold onto him as much as she could, even with the smallest things. She hoped that one day Enjolras would have finally come to his senses and get back to his family. After all, he was still young, and he had all the time in the world to change his mind.

"Sure, Mom. Have a nice day. Bye." he left the house after kissing his mother on the cheek. He didn't tell her he hated to see her like that - he was sure his father had made a scene, the night before. He was rather ashamed by the fact that his fingers had been tracing the curve of Éponine's shoulders on the breakfast table, instead than comforting his mother.

* * *

He had walked to the library under the rain, carefully tucking his bag under his jacket, dreched by the time he got there. He did not really mind - he always thought Paris was the most beautiful under the rain. He quickly glanced around the room to find Éponine, but only saw Cosette - who greeted him waving her hand.

"Enjolras! Nice to see you here." she smiled widely, lowering her voice not to disturb the other students.

"Hello, Cosette. I was just... "

"Looking for someone, right?" she nodded, placing one of her curls under her ear. "I am afraid Éponine will not be here today - she has to shop." added the girl, with a reproachful tone.

"S-shop?" Enjolras was puzzled - he had walked her to her apartment last night. He thought that she would have shown up unexpected, just like she used to. He was almost certain to see her, after their conversation last night.

"You... you don't know?" Cosette looked surprised. "I thought you knew that she was going to the Red and Black party, tonight."

"The... the what?"

"The Red and Black party, Enjolras. It's the social event of the season - I think it's organized by Vogue magazine, or something. Éponine always manages to be someone's plus one - last year, she went with some German businessman. And this year- well, I don't really know. All I know is that she spends the day after sleeping." she chuckled, shaking her head.

"Oh. I see." Naturally, he thought. He had been right all along about her - the game she played with other people's hearts was by far her favorite.

He was ready to head towards his table, feeling heavy headed, when Cosette's hand touched his wrist.

"She is... she is not mean. She just does it for fun, you know? That's all it is."

"It's not important, Cosette. Really. I was just wondering if she would be here today." Enjolras would have never thought, two months ago, that Marius's obnoxious _petit amie_ would have been the one looking at him with pity.

"You- you could swing around her house later. She certainly has to get ready, and she takes ages. You could see her there. And... you know, with Éponine, the more she likes you, the faster she runs away."

"I guess I could do that. Thank you, Cosette." at least she was nice - she sincerely cared about her friend. But he didn't understand why she cared about him. "Although I don't know if I can make it - I have lots of things to do."

"Of course. It was just a suggestion." Cosette's smile followed him to his table - and once or twice, when he raised his head from his books, he could see her looking at him friendly.

* * *

He had far more important things to do than see Éponine, that's what he repeated to himself walking to her house. Besides, what was there to talk about? It was all nonsense. She had decided for both of them, clearly.

Knocking on her door, he felt the same twinge in his heart he had felt the time he saw Courfeyrac holding her hand, or anytime he thought of her with someone else, really.

"Who is it?" a cheerful voice came from the apartment. "I'm a total mess, it better not be a handsome prince who came to sweep me off my feet."

"It's... It's Enjolras, Éponine." he said, with a cracked voice. He heard steps approaching, the noise of a doorknob turning.

"Oh." she was standing in front of him, with her hair half made, curlier than the usual - and a red dress that made his heart skip one or two beats. "I'm in a hurry, darling. I would love to stay and chat, but it's almost seven, and I have to be out of the house by eight. It's impossible, I know. But I like challenges."

"Can we- can we at least talk? I just came to... to... " He didn't even know the real reason.

"To make things more complicated and make me feel like a terrible person, of course." she let him in reluctantly, closing the door.

"What? No, it's not that. It's just... " it was not the best time to forget the words he had praticted in the library.

"Sit down. I am going to make you some coffee, and then explain to you how the story ends." Éponine disappeared into her tiny kitchen. After ten minutes, she came back with two cups of coffee and handed one to Enjolras.

"Thanks, 'Ponine." he murmured, confused.

"Enjolras, listen carefully, because I don't want to repeat it. It's a little bit of an overreaction, in my opinion -but you're always like this, I guess. You are going to get out of this house, maybe swearing women off, since you weren't a ladies man anyway. For sometime, at least. You'll go back to your friends, write your nice little words on paper, go to a rally or two, and in three years, you are going to find a warm, kind girl who is in one of your classes. Her eyes will light up every time she sees you, you will marry her, have a couple of children, and get old. End of the story. Alright? Now finish your coffee, I'm late."

"What on Earth?" he was completely shocked. "This makes no sense, Éponine. I- why do you think you're so important to make me swear women off, for starters? I just wanted to talk to you, to ask you out in a more proper manner, maybe, but you're so convinced of the fact that everyone just wants to trick you that you do it yourself."

She shook her head, annoyed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry you were offended by my words - but trust me, this whole Holier-than-Thou act of yours is ridiculous. Who are you to judge me, anyway? Or anyone else, for that matter? And I'd like to point out that it was just a stupid kiss, a kiss like a thousand ones, and you're here in my house making a scene just because I don't want to see you tonight."

"I don't act like that - forgive me if I think there is something more important out there than going to parties and treating people like toys. I guess you can't understand that. All your books and your quotations - it's all part of the package, right? The quirky, beautiful, misunderstood girl - you are indeed a cliché, Éponine. How can anyone fall for that? And besides - it was not just a kiss. No matter how hard you try to deny it, you told me some pretty personal things, last night. You shared something important with me, the kiss is actually the least important part."

"That's ironic, because you did." she laughed, sarcastically. "Who cares? I could have told you everything about myself, it still wouldn't change the nature of our relationship - which doesn't exist."

"And I'm the one who gets scared, uh? I can understand the fact that you don't want to get attached - but running away from everything is quite childish, frankly."

"Oh, cut it off. And leave me alone, I have to get ready. Lipstick doesn't put on itself, you know."

"Such a smart move - asking the only person who is interested in you, and not what you look like or what you wear to walk away. Whatever you do... I don't care. Nice seeing you, Éponine. Hope it never happens again." he slammed the door behind him, without looking at her once.

But Éponine did. She played his storming out in her head at least a dozen times, while she was applying make up on her face, until she realized that, to that day, the thing she was best at was letting go.

* * *

"You sure you're okay, Enjolras? You look pale. It must be the weather - maybe you caught a cold or something... " Joly carefully examined his face, that night at the _Musain_. "You should be careful... "

"Joly, you are going to be an excellent doctor, one day but... I think that the reason behind Enjolras's sickness is someone, not something." Courfeyrac laughed, drinking his glass.

"Shut up, Courfeyrac." he buried his head under his pile of flyers and kept on writing.

"The pretty lady that was here last night, right? Oh, charming one." Courfeyrac stopped only when he caught Enjolras's glare. He raised his hands, shaking his head.

"Enjolras- can we talk, for a minute?" It was Marius's voice.

"What now, Marius? Seriously, tonight you're all worse than the usual. Make it quick, I'm working."

"I just... I have a message for you, from Éponine. She gave it to Cosette, who gave it to me - and, well, you know how these things work."

"I am not interested in the very least. Tell her she can save her ink." How could she be so immature to send a message after what she had said earlier.

Marius ignored him and left Éponine's note on his table, while ordering some more wine for his friends. Enjolras reached for the yellow paper, with his hands shaking.

_"You are the most despicable man I have ever met, and yet you manage to make me chase you? I thought you were oblivious, when it came to women. But that's no matter - I like to think of our conversation today as an exchange of harsh truths about each other. Now that we have said the worst, we can actually make room for what's better."_

He was about to throw it away, when he realized that there were two words scribbled at the bottom of the page.

_"Turn around."_

He turned his head - and there she was, wearing a trench coat on her red dress, her hair wet and her make up undone. She was a mess, actually, just like he was. But they both couldn't help to smile.

He knew there was no one for him but her. Not the kind, warm girl she had described for him. The quirky, unexplainable girl who hid her heart away - but sometimes, remembered to have one.


	6. 6

_FREEDOM AT LAST, YAY!_

_My Physics exams results came out and I passed with flying colors, so... I'm writing while I'm cooking some cake! (Don't you have anything better to do? Indeed, but nothing I enjoy as much.) I found my inspiration among the kitchen objects so... Here it is._

_xx_

_Lily_

Before Enjolras could greet Éponine properly, someone else had already rushed to see her. Actually - everyone else.

"Mademoiselle, where do you want to go all wet like that? It's not safe, you are probably waking up with fever tomorrow morning and I think Enjolras does not know that you are supposed to give your jacket when a girl is in such state. Besides, you could be... contagious." Joly was overly concerned, as usual. But Éponine appreciated that - almost strangers never offered their help without an ulterior motive.

"Lovely, lovely 'Ponine. You look marvelous. A beautiful dress on a beautiful woman." Courfeyrac kissed Eponine's hand. "I was afraid that Enjolras's lack of social manners had made you run away - glad to see I was mistaken. Grantaire!" he shouted. "Give the mademoiselle some wine. She's all cold."

"Wine coming!" replied a voice across the room. "We always help a lady in need, right?" Grantaire showed up with a glass of red wine and handed it to Éponine. "Nice to see you again, doll. Please, tell me you're not here for Enjolras - you're wasted on him."

"I... " even someone like Éponine, who was used to have men around her all the time, was taken aback. She took the wine and sipped it. "Well, thank you very much, gentlemen. Always nice to see that chivalry is not dead." She laughed, walking towards Enjolras's table.

"I see you're in good company." he didn't raise his head, but was clearly smiling. "Put my jacket on, or otherwise Joly is going to kill me with a surgical tool of some sort."

"Not before you give me a kiss." she whispered, sitting next to him.

He blushed deeply. Kissing someone in front of his friends wasn't something he would have felt comfortable with. Especially someone who had been so hard on him only a couple of hours earlier.

"Why are you even here? Wasn't there a party you couldn't miss?"

"It was horribly boring, this year - besides, I found out that my escort was a married man. You do the math." she laughed. He shook his head - she couldn't lose. At least not in public.

"So you're honoring us all with your presence-" before he could finish his sentence, she kissed him on the cheek. He felt his face flush.

"I'm not, because I'm taking you home. It's the only reason I came here. We can talk there, have some wine and... "she took his hand, without waiting for his answer.

"But I'm in the middle of something, Éponine. I can't just leave."

"Yes, you can. No one will care, trust me. Or else, I can always go back to my party - a pretty girl like me doesn't have a hard time finding someone to get her in."

"With you, it's your way or nothing, isn't it?" said Enjolras, getting up from the chair.

"You're just the same, so don't complain."

Before leaving, Courfeyrac gave his friend a look of approval. "Never knew you had it in you, Enjolras. Our little boy is growing up." he whispered, laughing.

* * *

Little did Enjolras know that Éponine did not want to talk about why she had shown up out of the blue - and little did he know that she could be so convincing. The first time they had kissed, she had seemed ethereal to him, almost out of reach, mostly because he had read dozens of books where characters gently embraced under the moonlight.

But this time, he started to realize why, everywhere she went, she was always surrounded with men. It was the way she held you in her arms and drowned out the crowd. It was her long fingers, the curve of her hips, her crooked smile - Enjolras loved to kiss her on the sides of her mouth, as if to freeze it forever. Maybe she would have been happy, then.

He had never felt more embarassed in his entire life, but he also was sure that in those moments, he was not being judged or anything - she had the ability to make him feel comfortable. In those moments, she was not her usual self, with her sharp tongue, her smirks, and her frowns. She was just a girl, as he was just a boy.

His awkwardness had ceased when he had understood that she was actually revealing herself, inch after inch. When he felt her heart beat so clear he could almost grasp it, he slowly placed his lips on it, while the perfume of her breasts slowly got to his head.

They were not used to silence between them - but for one night, words could have ruined everything, just like they had tied them before. Éponine knew that holding a woman and whispering in her ear sweet nothings wasn't something Enjolras was used to. Enjolras was sure that she had fallen asleep in his arms, but chose not to say a word when he woke up with her lying on the other side of the bed.

It simply didn't matter. All it mattered was that it only took her to stretch her arm to touch his knees, and that he could run his fingers through her black curls as many times as he wanted. Their bodies shortened the distances between them.

When Éponine felt like rising, she threw on herself a slip and started running around in the kitchen - Enjolras cleary heard sounds of pots and glasses tingling. She came back with only a cigarette in her mouth and one cup in her hand - and to his utmost surprise, she handed it to him.

"I made the first one for you."

He took it from her hands and observed it - it had a line of a poem written on it, in tiny letters.

"Where did you get this one, Éponine?" he was sincerely curious.

She replied from the kitchen, her voice perfectly audible. "That one's from London - I bought it in Camden Town for a couple of pounds, do you believe it? I find it adorable."

He read the inscription out loud.

_"The all of thine that cannot die through dark and dread Eternity returns again to me."_ he shook his head. He never thought Éponine could have liked a quotation like that one.

"Where is it from? Is it from a novel?"

"Believe it or not" she said, sitting at the end of the bed with another cup in her hands "It's what got me into the library in the first place. At first, it was no more than an object. But then I became obsessed with that sentence - and sworn to find out where it was from. I eventually did." she placed her turtle ashtray on her lap.

"It's not a novel. It's a poem, by Lord Byron. I spent each afternoon, for one week, looking for a collection of his poems in the markets by the banks of the Seine... " she took the only book on her bedside table and put into into his hands "There it is."

Enjolras flipped through the pages - she had probably loved that copy more than many of the men she had met in her life. The paper was extremely delicate, and some side notes were found here and there.

"Never thought you were such a romantic."

"Me? Oh, I'm the last of the romantics. That's why I have been saving all my love away - because one day, I will feel a sudden burst of light out of nowhere, and I will be ready to give everything I've hidden throughout the years."

He kept turning the cup in his hands. "What's that big burst of light about, anyway?"

"It's personal, of course. But if you ask me - it's when you see your own beauty reflected into someone else's eyes."

Enjolras tried to smile, as his hand touched hers. "And when you will feel it, will you be kind enough to inform him?"

"I will never tell him. I will just show him. Telling him - words are deceitful. He will have to be smart enough to find out that the little details I've been giving away actually mean something more. Small, useless details. You see - if he truly is the right person, he will understand and appreciate them. He will remember the way I look under the rain, after running around town like a poor, hopeless little girl. But he will never know that I ran." her voice cracked up a little bit.

Enjolras's cheeks turned of a bright shade of red, as he leaned to kiss her forehead.

"And in return, he will give you the seconds on the clock, the dawns to come, and his days."


	7. 7

_MY EXAMS ARE FINALLY OVER - which means, more writing. Yay! _

_This chapter was clearly inspired by Stars' amazing song, Barricade. If you don't know them, this band will change your life, I swear. (And the next one, the last one, will be inspired by their song "In Our Bedroom After the War")_

_xx_

_Lily_

The day Éponine came into Enjolras's life, the clock sped up. He still wasn't sure whether they had adjusted to the world, or the world to them.

News came from every corner of the globe, students rising everywhere, for all kinds of causes - the Vietnam war, civil rights, women rights. Enjolras and his friends were twice as busy, as they occupied classrooms and wrote poetry down the streets, making Paris alive, once more.

It was a season of dreamers. And it was also a season of dances, for Enjolras - Éponine would always greet him home with two glasses and the record player on, ready for an improptu dance party in the kitchen.

Those were the only moments the clock froze - and it was in one of those timeless seconds that he felt free from the weight he was carrying on his shoulders. He remembered that he was young, and in love, in Paris - he remembered that all he wanted was laying ahead.

He moved into her apartment the day one photographer caught him waving a flag, guiding his fellow students. His father had lost all hopes of winning back his son with money, and closed a door which had already been sealed. He showed up at Éponine's house with one bag of clothes and the few books he had been able to save. She smiled and let him in.

She was always happy to help him - with one extra cup of coffee in the morning, or a long embrace when he came home around two in the morning. They didn't have enough money, but every time Enjolras managed to get together a couple of francs he bought her lipstick - it was their tradition. She couldn't live without it - it was the only thing she kept from her past. She no longer went to fancy parties on boats on the Seine. Enjolras realized that Éponine did not dread living with someone, as long as it was her choice.

They shared their apartment like an old married couple - because Éponine knew that Enjolras was young, but wise beyond his years. She knew that no love vows or promises could come from his mouth, unless his ideals had become realities. She accepted it, learning how to love, for the first time. Before, she had only loved from afar, or not at all. Sometimes, she wondered for how long she would have lasted - for how long they would have lasted. She tried to hold onto him as hard as she could, kissing him twice every morning. Maybe her kisses would have done the trick.

While Enjolras wrote his pamphlets and struggled throughout his law school exams, Éponine had started taking journalism classes - after all, it had always been her dream to see the world. She started writing alongside Enjolras, documenting the various protests - she was being true to herself. She had never told him she loved him. But boy, wasn't she with him to the very end.

They even got arrested a couple of times - but all they remembered of jail, before Joly and Combeferre came to bail them out, was exchanging jokes and making fun of the cops in charge of them.

The only time they kissed in public was as they lay on the street, challenging morals, society and all those around them. They were invincible, as they waited for the police to arrive and take them in.

Not much had changed from the day he had promised her his days on her bed. Their promises weren't words, but a lifetime together. Like the authors that had made them meet, Sartre and De Beauvoir, they were a necessity to each other's life.

There was no Enjolras without Éponine, and no Éponine without Enjolras. The ones that made fun of Marius and Cosette for their rushed, but sweet June wedding. They didn't need to talk in front of everybody about their eternity together. They felt inevitable. Or at least, that's what they thought.

* * *

Éponine was halfway through her article on women rights when the phone in her apartment rang. It was three in the afternoon, and she laid carelessly on her bed, sucking her pencil.

"Hello?"

"'Ponine, it's Courfeyrac - They got him. They arrested him."

She laughed, still lost in her thoughts. "So what? It's happened before. I'll come to bail him out, okay? Relax. I saved up some francs for emergencies like this one..." her fingers started reaching for a tin under her bed.

Courfeyrac's voice was broken. "It's worse, this time. Much worse. They aren't dropping charges. And I'm sure he's... he's... injured, let's say."

"He's what?" she clutched her fists, with the francs in her hand.

"Badly. I lost sight of him before this happened... Listen, 'Ponine. There's only one thing you can do. Enjolras will probably kill me for even suggesting it, but if he's in that state, and in jail, it's... "

"Courfeyrac, just say it. There is no way I am leaving him there. You heard me? No way. Name the price."

"Call his father, Éponine. You know the guy. He can pull some strings here and there."

"I'm on it." she looked through Enjolras's papers, looking for a phone number, desperately.

It was the first time Courfeyrac called her. But it wasn't the last.

Over the next few months, she kept receiving phone calls like that. She took the habit of pouring herself a glass of whiskey first thing in the morning. Soon, she realized that she shivered every day. She had started after Courfeyrac called her, and never stopped.

It took Enjolras to be hospitalized for three days to tell him she loved him. She hated begging - but there she was, lying next to him in a hospital bed, holding his left hand and whispering frantically _"You promised me your days, Enjolras. Don't you dare backing out. You promised."_

Enjolras's mother brought her food and some money, from time to time. She still loved her son. One morning, as they sat together at the police station, she took some pins from Éponine's hair, letting it flow freely.

"He always thought you were the most beautiful with your hair undone, you know?"

* * *

The nights he did not spend in jail where the ones he didn't kiss her anymore. Their record player was silent. And if they drank, it was because they both wanted to drown.

Éponine would have never thought to come back to her old techniques. She was starting to remember her own craft, the art that had gotten her through life. Running.

She didn't even think about it twice when they offered her to spend the summer in Berlin and write a series of insights about the Wall. Every wall in the world was better than the one she had to face at home.

"I accepted." she stated, matter of factly, packing up her clothes and the lipsticks from their earlier days.

"I wouldn't have had it any other way. Show them what you're capable of." he cracked a smile from the kitchen table.

"So that's it?" she was confused. Didn't he want her to stay?

"That's it what?" he didn't raise his eyes from his flyer.

"It's over, just like this? With you sending me off with a big smile on your face?"

"Don't be silly, 'Ponine. It would be very selfish of me to stand between you and your career. And you're throwing a fit because... ?" he wasn't being mean. He sincerely didn't understand.

"Because you're not the one who spent nights by the phone, hoping to hear your voice across the wire! You're not the one holding your hand in a hospital wing and praying for this time not to be the last! Do I even matter something, now? I bet you're happy I'm leaving, then. I bet you're happy that you can get in and out of jail just how many times you like without even consider... " He closed her mouth with a kiss. It was the first one in a long time.

"You promised something too, remember? You're necessary, Éponine. I'm not here screaming and throwing glasses because I know that no matter if I have to wait one year, or ten, or twenty, you're still going to be the person I want to wake up to for the next forty years. You're still going to be that person, Éponine. We're both grown ups, now. And – you are the only reality I could always count on."

"But you said you would give me your days and... " she was in tears. She finally broke down, after all those months.

"When I said my days, I meant yours too. We are together in this, 'Ponine. And you're going to have some days on your own, and it's going to be just fine. I'll wait for you. When I said my days - I meant also those I'm willing to give you to be happy."

He held her in his arms. They were back to the times of improptu dance parties in the kitchen. "There's something I want to show you, before you leave. Come with me."

He took her hand, just like she had done the night they kissed on the banks of the Seine.

"Enjolras, what is... " he lead her to their balcony, opening the windows. Their house had always faced an old and decayed factory. The streetlights emphasized a poster she had never seen before. It covered the whole façade.

There was a young, beautiful woman throwing a brick - and the caption read, _La beauté est fans la rue._ Beauty is in the Street. Slowly, as her fingers seemed to touch the poster she recognized her features in those of the girl portrayed.

"The words are Jehan's. But the idea is mine." he squezeed her shoulder with his right hand. "And it's not the only one. Paris is covered. We did a good job." He grinned.

"It's... it's beautiful. It's more than I could have ever asked for." Éponine was speechless, staring at her image. That was her moment. She finally saw her beauty reflected into someone's eyes. "I- I love you, Enjolras."

"I love you too, Éponine." he kissed her on the cheek. "And it's time for me to send you your own way."

When Enjolras woke up the morning after, Éponine was long gone. The only thing she had left behind was a small, rectangular blue box. He opened it and recognized the old, rusty wedding band they had seen together at one Paris's flee markets.

Each Sunday, when they strolled around the city, they saw those two rings - understated, simple, and for some reason plain, just like them. They always laughed. They called them their own, but never had the courage to buy them.

There was a tiny note, in yellow paper. She had never changed her notebooks of choice - the same paper she had used to write him the first note she had sent him.

_"You better wear yours, mister. I'm wearing mine."_

He laughed, gently placing it on his ring finger. Their old season had finished, but a new one was about to start.


	8. 8

_The final chapter._

_Writing these drabbles has been wonderful, I hope you had just as much fun reading them. I never thought so many of you would have followed me, thank you! Your reviews kept me going - and a special thanks goes to essence-of-lily for the lovely graphic she made for Tumblr and to unicornesque for including me in her fic rec._

_This chapter is set to three songs: In Our Bedroom After the War, by Stars, Beauty of the End, by Paloma Faith, and Bittersweet Symphony by the Verve. _

_PS. Simone de Beauvoir once received a note from Sartre with the exact same instructions._

_'Til the next time,_

_Love,_

_Lily_

Two years had passed, since the day Éponine had left Paris for West Berlin. The American government had given her a special pass for journalists which allowed her to visit the city freely, careless of the border. She had written various articles, comparing the two sections.

She even started taking her own photographs - and the one that Enjolras kept framed in his bedroom was that of a couple getting married by the Wall waving hands, because their parents lived on the other side. Maybe one day that couple could have been them, waving at their past.

It had only been the beginning for her, of course. Her insights had been a success - she had been hired by other press agencies. She was sent to New York to cover the students' movement, and sent him photos of couples who reminded her of the two of them. But in Enjolras's eyes, no American beauty could match the curve of her shoulders and her sharp tongue.

Paris was no longer burning. Everyone who had so eagerly believed in the dawn of a new era had grown up, perhaps. Convinced, or more probably, tired out by his friends, Enjolras had finished his exams, and been offered an internship at a law firm which was, as he liked to the say, on the side of the workers.

He started working hard, because his law papers were the only thing distracting him from wondering which stars was the wide-eyed love of his life gazing into each night.

Courfeyrac was the only one who regularly corresponded with her - and with a broken voice, he was the one who had told Enjolras she was getting married to an American professor. He spent the day holding his friend's hand, telling him that it would have been inevitable, sooner or later. That they were just kids, when they started seeing each other, that it was the natural way of things.

Enjolras never knew that Éponine still kept his wedding ring on her left hand finger. And Éponine never knew she kept his. That evening, sitting with Grantaire over a bottle of whiskey, he had raised his glass. "To our endless, numbered days."

* * *

Jacqueline swept into his life like a summer breeze. She was a friend of Marius's and had the warm smile Éponine had always warned him about. Easy to love, with her graceful manners and her sweet laugh - the first time they met, she glanced at his hand, spotting the ring.

"And where's your lovely wife?"

"I- I'm not married. This ring belonged to my mother."

It took them only six months to move in together - she was the quiet after the storm. No surprises came from someone like her, who insisted on choosing the right curtains to match the carpet. He was happy, in a way: he had spent two years of his life with a person who changed her mind over everything. She was constant.

He felt guilty, when he stroked her hair at night, because he remembered Éponine, and the fact that she hated to sleep nestled in his arms. She hated to be seen vulnerable – and sleep was the ultimate weakness. Until one night, when he had played old French songs on their recorder until dawn, guiding her through the various stages of sleep, holding her hand.

Éponine had murmered, before closing her eyes, the words he would have hold onto for the rest of his lifetime. "That's why I love you. You're not letting me go."

He hated himself for not being able to buy Jacqueline lipsticks.

She had caught him once whispering to the night winds. "You promised, Éponine. You were the one who held my hand on a hospital bed, ordering me to live. Don't you dare backing out, you said. I'm asking you the same now."

She didn't ask questions. Silence was another one of her many talents.

How could he know that, across the sea, by the Boston docks, a woman looked at the stars, just like he did on his balcony, praying for their opposite stars to meet again. "I'm not the one who backed out." she replied, answering to questions she didn't know. "One word, Enjolras. It's all it takes. One word, and I'll be yours."

But Enjolras had never been like Éponine: he couldn't master the art of deceiving. He could have never been happy with Jacqueline, no matter how hard, each day, he tried to smile and pretend. He realized it the day Time magazine reprinted Jehan's poster, now iconic. Beauty is in the street. But for him, Paris had ceased to be beautiful the day Éponine had left. She took his season away.

He married Jacqueline one year later, hoping to pick up the pieces he had lost along the way. Maybe marriage was the right thing - it had worked miracles for Cosette and Marius, who seemed more in love with each other than ever, holding their first born child in their arms. Courfeyrac didn't smile at his wedding.

Less than six months later, they signed the papers for divorce, citing irreconcilable differences. Before leaving his apartment for the last time, she looked at him sadly and took his face in her hands.

"I really hope you get her, someday."

* * *

Five more years had passed. He woke up in the middle of the night, sometimes. It was not because Éponine was probably somewhere, scattered around the globe, holding a stranger's hand. It was because he had this feeling that she was no more. He didn't care about her being his own. He cared about her being alive, and safe.

The certainty of her strolling around unknown streets, nursing a child with her eyes, eating pastries in Germany, riding an elephant in India, was what he needed. The certainty that she still existed, even if he could touch her only in his dreams. A world without Éponine was not a world he wanted to live in. _Being and Nothingness_ was book that had made them meet, but he couldn't bear to see her descent into nothingness.

When he had one of those nights, he slipped into his balcony to search for her star. It still was there. He used to call it his light house, and kissed it goodnight. Too bad stardust didn't taste like Éponine's lips.

The day of his mother's funeral, his father had the courage to speak to him again for the first time in years. He was no longer the man who tried to talk his young son out of his ideals; he was a man who had lost the only woman in her life he had loved. "The best part of me is gone." he said, throwing roses into her grave. He then looked at his son, now a grown man, who had his eyes.

"She really liked her, you know? She always talked about how beautiful your children would have been."

"Who? Jacqueline?" he whispered, already knowing the answer.

"No, Éponine."

His father was made out of marble, just like they used to say about him. But for once, he had cracked.

When Enjolras got home, there was a note waiting for him in the mailbox. A yellow note, with the familiar, rushed hand writing of a young school girl in Paris.

"Sorry about your mother. Bring her flowers for me. Twenty months. Athens. At the feet of the Parthenon. Evening."

He shook his head. Éponine had never learned how to use punctuation correctly.

* * *

Twenty months later, under the feet of eternal statues, who had witnessed the fall of heroes and gods, he saw her again - her hair undone, camera, notebook and a cup of coffee in her hands. Lots of lipstick. She had not changed. Both of them hadn't, actually.

They didn't run towards the each other. There wasn't any need for scenes like those in the movies. What they had couldn't be compared to Hollywood romances - what they had was real.

He noticed she wasn't wearing any wedding ring, but his.

"He didn't like how I behaved on social occasions. And preferred Foucault over Sartre. Unacceptable."

"She knew she couldn't beat the competition. Never read Marcuse in her life."

They both laughed, as he reached to touch her hand. Growing old suited her. He couldn't wait to kiss the crinkle above her nose he had never seen before.

Much to his surprise, she handed the cup of coffee to him. She still remembered how he took it.

"You remember the sentence I whispered like a loon in the library? That I wanted to be necessary and I wanted the other to be contingent? I never believed it could be true."

"It took you almost eight years to figure that out?"

"I never was a smart rich kid like you, darling."

He couldn't wait any longer. He kissed her lips, like he had done countless times before, when they were younger. He felt the rush of blood to his head, the experience of being left breathless by the miracle that was another human being. And not just any other human being. The miracle that Éponine had been all his life.

"My details." she said.

"My days." he replied, pulling her closer, smiling between her lips.

"I'm starving, Enjolras. I bet you've never been to Athens - Courfeyrac told me that you almost live in your office. There's a lovely restaurant by the harbor... " she squeezed his hand, guiding him. "Just so you know... I'll give you all the sleep in your arms you can take for the rest of your life. That's my new promise. Don't forget it."

"I'll make sure of that. I'll remember for us both. That's my new promise."

"Always the same old dreamer, huh? Wishing upon magic wells and stars?"

He put his hand around the waist, like he did the first time they had danced. He closed his eyes, catching the last rays of the Greek sun.

"This time, I'm wishing on something more real." he added, kissing her on the cheek, as their two rings shone one next to the other. "You."


End file.
